Ava looked at Lucien kneeling in front of her, tears tracking down his face, and felt her anger at his deception shift into something more complex. Not forgiveness—that would take time and continued effort on his part. But understanding that his pattern of withholding information wasn't just about control; it was about a sixteen-year-old boy trying to protect himself from reliving the worst moment of his life.
"Stand up," she said quietly, releasing his hands and getting to her feet.
He looked up at her with uncertainty, as if expecting rejection now that she'd seen him at his most vulnerable. But she held out her hand, and after a moment, he took it and let her help him to his feet.
"Sit down," she directed, gesturing to the couch in his office. "We need to talk, but not like this."
Lucien moved to the couch and sank onto it, looking exhausted in a way that went beyond physical tiredness. Ava sat beside him—close enough to be supportive but maintaining enough distance to think clearly.
"What you experienced—finding your father like that, carrying that trauma for eighteen years—that's not something you should have had to bear alone," she said carefully. "Have you ever talked to anyone about it? A therapist, a counselor?"
He shook his head. "I've always been able to control it. Channel it into the investigation, into building the company, into staying focused on finding answers."
"That's not controlling it, Lucien. That's avoiding it." Ava chose her words carefully. "And I think it's why you've developed these patterns of trying to control everything around you—because you couldn't control what happened when you were sixteen, so you've spent eighteen years making sure nothing ever feels that chaotic again."
"I know that," he said quietly. "Intellectually, I understand that my need for control comes from trauma. But understanding it doesn't make it easier to stop."
"No, it doesn't. Which is why you need professional help, not just self-awareness." She turned to face him more fully. "I can be your partner in this investigation. I can even be someone who supports you emotionally when things get difficult. But I can't be your therapist, and I can't fix trauma that needs professional intervention."
Lucien looked at her with an expression that mixed hope with fear. "You're not leaving?"
"I'm not leaving the investigation. We're too close to exposing Vance and Castellane to stop now." She paused, making sure he understood the distinction. "But Lucien, I need you to understand something important: I'm staying because I choose to pursue justice for our fathers, not because I'm responsible for managing your trauma or because your vulnerability obligates me to take care of you."
She saw him absorb that, saw the subtle shift in his expression as he processed the boundary she was drawing.
"I understand," he said finally. "You're right to clarify that. I don't want you to stay out of guilt or obligation."
"Good. Because what I saw today—your breakdown, your vulnerability, the depth of your pain—that helps me understand you better. It helps me see why you've been the way you've been. But understanding doesn't erase the harm, and your trauma doesn't excuse the controlling behavior."
"I know." He looked down at his hands. "I'm not asking for excuses. I'm asking for... I don't know what I'm asking for."
"Maybe you're asking for someone to see your pain without running away from it," Ava suggested. "To acknowledge what you've been through without either excusing your behavior or abandoning you because you're damaged."
"Yes." The word came out as barely a whisper. "That's exactly what I'm asking for."
Ava shifted closer, closing the distance between them on the couch. Not to blur boundaries or create false intimacy, but to offer genuine human compassion to someone who was suffering.
"I see your pain," she said quietly. "I see that you were a child when you experienced something traumatic, and that you've been trying to manage that trauma in ways that became harmful to others. I see that you're trying to change, even though it's difficult and you keep falling back into old patterns."
She placed her hand over his, a gesture of support rather than romance. "And I'm choosing to continue working with you because I believe you're genuinely trying to be better. But I need you to commit to getting actual professional help for your PTSD, not just relying on me or the investigation to manage your emotional state."
Lucien turned his hand over so their palms touched, holding her hand with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual intensity. "I'll find a therapist. Someone who specializes in trauma and PTSD. I should have done it years ago."
"You should have," Ava agreed. "But you're doing it now, which is what matters."
They sat in silence for a moment, hands clasped, the weight of everything that had been revealed settling over them. Ava felt the intimacy of the moment—not physical or romantic, but the deep connection that came from witnessing someone's pain and choosing to respond with compassion rather than judgment or flight.
"Thank you," Lucien said finally, his voice rough with emotion. "For not running. For setting boundaries instead of just leaving. For seeing me at my worst and still choosing to stay for the investigation."
"You're welcome. But Lucien?" She waited until he met her eyes. "This can't happen again. No more major revelations that you've been sitting on. No more deciding what I can handle based on your own fears. If we're going to be partners—real partners—I need complete honesty, even when the truth is painful."
"Complete honesty," he agreed. "No more secrets about our fathers, the investigation, or anything else relevant to what we're facing."
"And that includes your emotional state," Ava added. "If you're struggling, if the trauma is overwhelming you, I need you to tell me instead of trying to control everything around you to feel safe."
She saw him struggling with that commitment, saw how deeply ingrained his patterns of hiding vulnerability were. But finally, he nodded.
"I'll try. It won't be perfect—I'll probably fail at it sometimes. But I'll genuinely try to be honest about when I'm struggling instead of just tightening control."
"That's all I'm asking for. Genuine effort, not perfect execution." She squeezed his hand before releasing it. "Now, we need to talk about what we learned from the lunch with Vance."
The shift to practical matters seemed to steady them both. Lucien took a deep breath and visibly composed himself, transitioning from vulnerable man to analytical investigator.
"He confirmed several things," Lucien said, his voice becoming more controlled. "First, that he knows details about the night your father died—details that only someone involved or briefed by someone involved would know. Second, that he's actively trying to turn you against me by exploiting legitimate criticisms of my behavior."
"And third, that he's worried enough about our investigation to make a move," Ava added. "The job offer, the attempt to extract me from the situation—that's not something he'd do if he thought we were chasing false leads."
"We're close to something," Lucien agreed. "Close enough that he felt the need to try to neutralize you as a threat by offering you an escape route."
"Or to monitor what we know by keeping me close under the guise of protecting me from you," Ava suggested. "If I'd taken the job, I'd be perfectly positioned to feed him information about our investigation while thinking I was safely extracted from your 'obsession.'"
Lucien's expression darkened. "He's been planning this for a while. The necklace, the initial contact, the carefully timed lunch invitation—all of it designed to establish a relationship he could exploit."
"So what do we do now?" Ava asked. "He's expecting me to either take his job offer or at least consider it seriously. If I just cut contact, he'll know something's changed."
"We use it," Lucien said, the strategic part of his mind clearly engaging. "We let him think you're conflicted, that his revelations about my father's involvement in your father's death have created doubt. We feed him information that makes him think he's succeeding in turning you against me."
"While actually gathering evidence against him," Ava finished. "It's risky."
"Everything about this is risky. But you're right that we can't just stop contact without raising suspicion." He pulled out his laptop and opened a secure file. "We'll need to craft messages carefully—enough truth to be believable, enough misdirection to protect our actual investigation."
They spent the next hour planning their approach, mapping out what information they could safely share with Vance and what needed to be protected. It felt good to be working together on practical problems after the emotional intensity of the earlier conversation.
As evening shadows lengthened across the city, Ava felt the strange intimacy of their partnership—not romantic or physical, but built on shared purpose and hard-won trust. She'd seen Lucien at his most vulnerable and chosen to stay. He'd admitted his deepest trauma and accepted her boundaries instead of trying to use vulnerability to manipulate her into closer emotional involvement.
It wasn't a fairy tale resolution. It wasn't even entirely healthy—they were two damaged people bound together by tragedy and investigation, working to expose criminals while navigating their own complicated dynamic. But it was honest, at least. Honest about limitations and boundaries and the reality that partnership didn't mean erasing all the harm that had been done.
"I should go," Ava said finally, glancing at her watch. "It's almost eight, and we both need rest before dealing with whatever Vance does next."
"Wait." Lucien's voice stopped her as she gathered her things. She turned back to find him standing, looking uncertain in a way that was becoming familiar. "Before you go, I need to say something."
"Okay."
He moved closer but maintained the respectful distance they'd established. "What you did today—confronting me about the deception, demanding honesty, setting clear boundaries about what you will and won't accept from this partnership—that took courage. Real courage, not the kind that comes from being fearless, but the kind that comes from being afraid and doing it anyway."
"Thank you," Ava said quietly.
"And I want you to know that I heard everything you said. About needing professional help, about the difference between understanding my trauma and excusing my behavior, about choosing to stay for the investigation rather than out of obligation to manage my emotional state." His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that was different from his usual control—more open, more genuine. "I'm going to work on being better. Not perfect, but genuinely better."
"I believe you," Ava said. And surprisingly, she meant it.
She left his office as Manhattan's lights were fully illuminating the night sky, feeling exhausted but also strangely hopeful. Not about romance or some fairy tale transformation of their relationship, but about the possibility that two people damaged by trauma could work together effectively while maintaining healthy boundaries.
It was a small hope, realistic rather than idealistic. But after everything they'd been through, small and realistic felt like enough.